Her parents straddled a politically correct fence. As a baby girl, skin soft pink she slept curled sideways in her infant corral: her country home wallpapered in yellow and navy and a rocking horse border circled her room. At age filly-five, she tested her limits. Her green and red Play-Doh stuck-silly to her fingers; her orange bicycle splish-splashed through grey puddles. Today, she's a free-spirited child. Nine-years-old turning 16, she bucks her gender-neutral ways: washes dirt from her hands, snubs loud sirens, mechanical wrenches, toy trains, and cars gifted with white-walled tires. Instead, she rebel-whines for psychedelic swirls on rose-painted walls, satin pouf curtains, ribbon-laced skirts, and green apple scents. A rebellious fight for independence. Her diaper-clad dolls and plush-pillow pals applaud: her forward escape through open gates, her blonde mane wind-blown and flowing, her stride confident and strong like a thoroughbred champion: the revolutionary wearing a pink blanket of roses.